By Dawn's Early Light, page 31
“F/X, we’ve got one of the good guys in a body bag in here,” Ercoli reported from one of the cell doors.
“Bring him, we’re leaving no one behind,” Jackson said.
Ercoli and one of the marines brought the body bag out while Terri, Shooter, and the other marine helped the three CIA agents and a woman out of their cells. She came as a complete surprise.
“Who’s that?” Jackson demanded.
“She’s an American,” one of the prisoners said. “She’s coming with us.”
“Right,” Jackson said. They looked gaunt and beat up, but seemed able to move okay.
“Lancer, F/X, we’re on our way out,” Jackson radioed. “One of your guys is down, and another hurt by the front door. We need help right now getting them back to the choppers.”
“We’re on it,” the marine team leader responded. “Shake a leg.”
“Time to go home,” Jackson told his people.
The gunfire had all but stopped. Four marines hustled through the ruined gate. One of them slung the dead marine over his shoulder and headed immediately back to the helicopters. The other marines helped with Hauglar’s body and the rest of the prisoners.
In minutes they were all back aboard the Super Cobras, and lifting off. They turned south, directly toward the sea and the Vinson battle group waiting offshore with enough firepower to start and finish a war with just about any nation on earth—Pakistan included.
27
NOON LOCAL
OMAHA, NEBRASKA
“Ladies and gentlemen, the president of the United States,” Nebraska state VFW Commander Paul Olsen announced. He stepped away from the podium as the audience filling the auditorium at the VA hospital got to their feet and applauded.
The VFW’s annual meeting and dinner was scheduled for this evening at eight. But the president had to be back in Washington. The final push for votes on the extension of the ABM treaty was coming up in the Senate. He couldn’t miss it. The VFW had met him halfway by hastily organizing this lunch for him. Hanson was a very popular president, especially among veterans.
Brad Stein had been on his cellphone for the past fifteen minutes at the side of the stage. As Hanson walked to the podium and shook Olsen’s hand, Stein handed the president a note.
Without missing a beat, Hanson glanced at the note, and then stepped to the microphone. When the applause died down he gave the audience of four hundred the famous Hanson smile.
“I’m truly sorry that I won’t be able to stay for the banquet tonight. I understand that you’ll be served chicken à la king. It’s one of my personal favorites, and I’m sure yours.”
The audience howled with laughter. In fact, they would be served corn-fed Nebraska filet mignons.
When the audience was quiet again, Hanson allowed his smile to fade. “Several weeks ago the government of Pakistan conducted an aboveground test of what we evaluated as a thermonuclear device in the three-megaton range. A city buster. This act flew directly in the face of every nuclear nonproliferation and test ban treaty in effect around the world. Treaties that the government of Pakistan signed.”
A sober mood came over the audience. The president was telling them old news. But something big was coming. They could feel it.
“Under my orders, a team of four specialists were sent to Pakistan to monitor the test. They were arrested and taken to a secret prison where they were starved, beaten, and tortured almost continually around the clock for all this time.
“For national security reasons I cannot tell you how we found out where they were being held. But we did.”
Hanson let his eyes sweep the audience. It was another of his old campaign tricks. He could make it seem that he was looking directly at each individual.
“I directed our armed forces to mount a rescue operation. Just one hour ago, units of the navy’s Seventh Fleet conducted that operation with only minimal casualties.”
Hanson smiled and nodded confidently. “I just received word that the rescue mission was a complete success.”
The applause this time was thunderous. Most of the men here had been on the battlefield. Some of them had been POWs in Vietnam and North Korea.
“I want no one hearing my voice today to make the mistake of believing that the United States will tolerate any threat—and I emphasize any threat—to the security of this great nation or to its citizens whether they be civilians or in uniform.”
The applause was huge. The television and radio networks scrambled to break into their regularly scheduled programs to broadcast the bulletin.
Hanson caught Brad Stein’s eye across the room and he nodded. The fat was in the fire now because the United States had attacked Pakistan, which only last year had helped round up the Al Qaeda terrorists. Most of the world press was ignoring North Korea, and China continued its silence about the incident in the Yellow Sea.
But the real brouhaha wouldn’t start until the media found out that among the prisoners rescued from Pakistan was the president’s brother.
Hanson let the applause wash over him like a soothing salve. There was an ancient Chinese curse that came to his mind: May you live in interesting times.
Well, the president thought. They certainly were living in interesting times.
Endings
KEAAU BEACH COUNTY PARK
OAHU, HAWAII
“How about a beer, Mr. Hanson?” Frank Dillon said as the president’s brother came over with the woman the navy had rescued. They’d accepted Dillon’s invitation to the Seawolf’s post cruise blowout.
“The name’s Scott, if you don’t mind, Captain. I’ve had my fill of the ‘Mr. Hanson’ bit. And a beer would do just fine, thank you.”
On these picnics the officers wore striped aprons and stupid hats, and did all the cooking and serving not only for the enlisted crew but for all the wives, sweethearts, parents, and kids of anyone connected with the boat.
Dillon, wearing a German jaeger hat with brush, manned the beer and wine table along with his XO Charlie Bateman.
“I’ll have a white wine, please,” Marcella Wallner said.
Dillon poured her wine first, and then Hanson’s beer. “You came as something of a surprise to Lieutenant Jackson.”
She smiled and glanced at Hanson. “I’ve had a habit of doing that most of my life. I was born a tomboy. The only girl on the block who liked pulling the legs off spiders.”
“She came as a surprise to me too,” Hanson said.
There were more than three hundred people here. They had taken over the park on the island’s west coast. They were only twenty miles from Pearl Harbor, yet they could have been on a jungle planet, or in another age in history. The scenery was lush.
A boy of about ten came rushing up to them. “Dad, Dad, you oughta see the waves. They’re humongous.”
“My son, Logan,” Hanson said. “Everything is humongous to him lately.”
An attractive, plainly built woman followed with a wispy long-haired blond girl of about thirteen.
“Captain, I’d like you to meet my wife, Gina, and our daughter, Ashley,” Hanson said.
“No rank here. The name is Frank,” Dillon said. “I’m pleased to meet you, Gina. Ashley. My wife, Jill, is around here somewhere.”
“We’ve already met, and she introduced me to some of the other wives as well,” Gina Hanson said. Her smile was radiant. “I wanted to thank you for taking part in rescuing my husband and his team.” She glanced at Marcella. “And Marcie.”
“It’s part of my job.”
Gina Hanson nodded. “I know. But I just wanted you to know how grateful we are.” She held his eye for a moment.
Dillon nodded. “May I give you a glass of wine?”
“Red, please,” Gina said. “Children, go play.” They took off like they were shot out of a cannon. “Scott, take your beer and mingle.” She accepted her glass of wine. “Thank you, Frank.” She turned to Marcella. “Now, Marcie, let’s you and I have a chat, and then we’ll introduce ourselves around.”
They headed down the broad path to the beach, leaving Dillon and Bateman alone for a moment.
“So, congratulations are in order,” Dillon said.
Bateman grinned. “I found out this morning, when did you hear about it?”
“Five days ago when they took my boat away from me.”
“Being SUBRON CO isn’t a shabby exchange, Frank,” Bateman said. SUBRON was a submarine squadron. It was the next big step up the chain of command from being the boss of a boat. Bateman had been relieved of duty aboard the Seawolf and ordered to the prospective commanding officer’s course at New London.
Dillon nodded, but his heart would always be aboard a submarine at sea. “With any luck you’ll be assigned back here.”
“I don’t want a shore job.”
“Not at first, Charlie. And that’s a promise,” Dillon said. “You’re going to make one hell of a submarine captain.”
Dillon’s wife, Jill, came over, and Bateman excused himself to pour more beer. She was lean from her bout with cancer, which at this point was in remission. Her face was round, her eyes green and her blond hair short. She looked like everybody’s idea of a Junior Leaguer, or the subservient navy wife. She was anything but. She gave her husband a peck on the cheek.
She nodded over her shoulder at the unruly softball game in progress. The crew was blowing off a lot of steam, Jackson and his SEALs with them. “Tough patrol?”
“Fair to middlin’,” Dillon admitted.
“I talked to Suzanne. She said she knew about Art’s mistress almost from the beginning. Did he talk to you?”
“Not until this time out. Said she had cancer and didn’t know what to do.”
“Pleasant woman,” Jill said. “Suzanne came to the hospital every day to be with her until the end.”
Dillon opened his mouth and started to say something, but Jill stopped him.
“Don’t try to understand women, Frank. You can’t. Suzanne accepted three things about her husband. His first mistress was the sea. His second mistress was Beth Anne. And his third love was his wife.”
“Thou wast all that to me, love, for which my soul did pine,” Dillon said. “A green isle in the sea, love. A fountain and a shrine. All wreathed with fairy fruits and flowers. And all the flowers were mine.”
It was Poe. “To One In Paradise.”
Jill smiled warmly. “You’re learning, darling. You really are.” She turned and looked toward the beach path. “Did I see Gina Hanson and Ms. Wallner heading that way?”
“Yes,” Dillon said, and his wife smiled at him again and headed to the beach. She stopped and looked back. “It’ll be good to have you home on a regular basis, you know.”
Dillon nodded, though he wasn’t all that certain his career would turn out exactly like that so soon.
SENATE HEARING CHAMBER
WASHINGTON
Adm. Joseph Puckett Jr.’s diminutive figure seemed lost behind the large oak table facing the six senators on the raised arch. The hearing was in camera so the media were not allowed. The senators had brought some of their aides and several attorneys. Puckett had come alone from the Pentagon with only his briefcase, which was open on the chair beside him.
Chief among Puckett’s detractors was Senator Thomas Lerner, the ranking Democrat from Minnesota, who thought that the navy was first among the services for wasting money. He glared down at the admiral.
“That sub driver of yours damned near started World War III,” Lerner said as an aside, and then he leaned over to say something to Senator Walter Wasserman on his left.
“He accomplished his mission,” Puckett responded.
Lerner hadn’t expected an answer, and he looked at the admiral in surprise.
“Our Jupiter satellite is back in service, which means that Pakistan and India can no longer hide their actions from us. With the destruction of the Kilo submarine and its Russian-built laser, North Korea will think twice about doing something like that again. And the Chinese have not brought up the destruction of their four submarines, which tells us that they knew they were in the wrong. They took a gamble and they lost. It is a gamble they will not take again soon.”
Lerner and the other senators were looking at Puckett as if he were a bug under a microscope.
“I would say that if anything, Captain Dillon did a fine job of preventing World War III.”
“Do you know how much his cowboy tactics cost the American taxpayer?” Lerner demanded angrily. He was a heavyset man with deep jowls and stern eyes.
Puckett took a bound report out of his briefcase and handed it to an aide to pass up to the senator.
“The cost analysis is there,” Puckett said. “The dollar amount is quite high. In the tens of millions. I think actually two-hundred-eighty-seven million, and change.”
“And change,” Lerner said in amazement. “How do you justify that?” he demanded. “Can you tell us that much?” He looked at the others. “We’d at the very least like to get our money’s worth.”
Puckett took a second, much thicker, bound report out of his briefcase and handed it to the same aide who brought it to Lerner.
“The CATO Institute along with our own analysts and those from the State Department and the Central Intelligence Agency came up with another cost analysis.”
“What’s this now?”
“This second estimate is in the tens of billions of dollars. It’s what we estimate the damage would have cost the American taxpayer if we had done nothing.”
DULLES INTERNATIONAL AIRPORT
Two black Ford Explorer SUVs with government plates pulled up to the Air France entry at Dulles.
FBI Special Agents Edward Matthais and John Harwig got out of the lead SUV. A third agent handed Lt. Cmdr. Viktor Stalnov out to them. The Russian’s hands were handcuffed in front of him, and he looked subdued. His future back in Moscow was bleak.
Special Agents Marnie Morgan and Brian Fuller helped the Pakistani ISI internal affairs investigator, Sardi Lenihar, out of the second SUV. She too was handcuffed, but unlike Stalnov she was imperious.
She was tall, dark, and beautiful. Ambassador Husain knew it when he’d taken her to his bed. And she was sure that everyone else around her knew it as well.
Also unlike Stalnov, who was returning to Moscow via Paris to face trial for treason, Lenihar was returning to Islamabad to a heroine’s welcome.
A blow had been struck against Pakistan. But it was not a mortal blow. There was more work to be done, and she would be at the fore-front of the effort. She was too outstanding an intelligence asset to toss aside.
“Unlock my handcuffs,” she demanded, holding her hands out.
Marnie laughed at her. “Yeah, right.”
The woman turned to Fuller, but Marnie took her by the arm and led her across the sidewalk to the federal marshals waiting at the doors. They would escort the prisoners to Paris.
Back at the car, Fuller stopped Marnie. “How about a drink after we ditch the wheels?”
“Yeah, right,” Marnie said. But then she bit her lip. “Okay,” she said. “But only if we have dinner afterwards.”
Fuller winked at her. “I knew that even the ice maiden couldn’t resist my charms forever.”
She took a swipe at him. “Ice maiden?” she demanded.
NORTHWEST TERRITORIES
CANADA
The black sail of an unidentified nuclear submarine broke through the pack ice of Lancaster Sound between Baffin Island to the south and the exceedingly bleak Devon Island, home of the north magnetic pole, to the north.
This was at nearly 75° north latitude. The only living souls were the few dozen people in the town of Resolute on Cornwallis Island one hundred and fifty miles to the west.
Under a leaden sky, a team of six men clad in white arctic gear clambered up on deck of the submarine and wrestled several heavy cases onto the ice pack.
They were sweating from exertion when they were finished setting up their equipment two hours later.
One of the men aimed a small dish antenna toward the south as a second took off his heavy gloves and, working bare-handed in the sub-zero cold, entered a series of commands on the laptop computer.
When the proper display came up on the screen he nodded to the one at the dish antenna who stepped aside, and hit enter.
All of them instinctively looked toward the south. Some of them shuddered. But it wasn’t because of the cold. It was because they knew that nothing in the world would ever be the same again. Not after what they had just done.
Novels by David Hagberg
Twister
The Capsule
Last Come the Children
Heartland
Without Honor*
Countdown*
Crossfire*
Critical Mass*
Desert Fire
High Flight*
Assassin*
White House*
Joshua’s Hammer*
Eden’s Gate+
The Kill Zone*
By Dawn’s Early Light
Writing as Sean Flannery
The Kremlin Conspiracy
Eagles Fly
The Trinity Factor
The Hollow Men
Broken Idols
False Prophets
Gulag
Moscow Crossing
The Zebra Network
Crossed Swords
Counterstrike
Moving Targets
Winner Take All+
Kilo Option+
Achilles’ Heel+
This is a work of fiction. All the characters and events portrayed in this novel are either fictitious or are used fictitiously.
BY DAWN’S EARLY LIGHT
Copyright © 2003 by David Hagberg
All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book, or portions thereof, in any form.
The poems “Annabel Lee,” “The City in the Sea,” and “To One in Paradise” are from The Complete Poems of Edgar Allan Poe, published by Random House.
A Forge Book
Published by Tom Doherty Associates, LLC
